Kage slapped his hands together. The screen with the traffic collision bolted out of the way. “But if we could get that information, not only would we have his name, we’d –”
“We’d know who his next victim will be. We’d just need to check which other organs he’s missing.”
Kage smiled.
Una tapped her glasses. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “Put me through to Census Admin … I don’t care how busy he is … No, I don’t have an appointment. Tell him the girl with the butterfly birthmark is calling … Just tell him.” Una smiled demurely up at Kage. “It was a long time ago … Yes, I’ll hold.”
There were eight casualties in the crash showing on the hoverscreen. Mid-air collisions at that speed weren’t a pretty sight. Bodies had been flung against the façades of nearby buildings, tumbling hundreds of yards to the tar below. A lucky victim had landed on the rooftop of a lower tower nearby. His outline concertinaed into an extraordinary shape. Kage watched as it twitched.
“Frank, it’s good to hear your voice too. I need access to the donor database … Yes, the organ donors.”
The hoverscreen, clearly relieved that at least somebody was paying it attention, inched closer to Kage’s face. Expanded and brightened.
“Oh, I see. Uhuh. No way around that? … Alright. Thanks. Wish Malory well from me … No, that wasn’t a threat. Don’t be a dick … Yeah, yeah.”
Una tapped her glasses. “No luck. You’ll need permission from the victims or their families for me to get a warrant.”
“Not a problem.” Kage was already halfway out the door, on his way back to the hospital, back to Daggy Munch, when he remembered.
“Please,” he said, “can we try one more time? Last night … I’d had an awful day. I was exhausted. Please can I make it up to you?”
Una fidgeted with the bandage on her nose. “This time I’ll meet you there.”
The careful meniscus that had built around Kage’s heart, the thin film of despair that he’d cultivated so carefully, evaporated.
Una held up a hand. “And I get to choose the destination.”
Kage smiled. “Sure.”
“I’ll text you,” she said. But Kage was gone. He ran past Shoulders’ raised eyebrow, past Weeks’ office, its solid oak door a hard urgency in his vision, through the bronzed archway, and into the baking Bubble sun.
“Taxi,” he yelled to his glasses.
Daggy Munch was going to give him access to those records. She would.
And then the Organ Thief would be his.
Pretty Little Thing
She’ll survive, he told himself. She will.
Daniel checked his newsfeed for the seventh time since he’d begun climbing the stairs to Margaret’s apartment.
His lungs were adjusting to the dust. He still coughed. Spluttered and heaved. But now he could climb a good fifteen stories without rest. And his quadriceps didn’t feel like they were going to implode.
There was nothing on the three news channels his glasses offered. Nothing about Thomsin. Not a mention of Amputating Amy. Nothing about Daggy.
He trawled Daggy’s fan pages. They were curious about her absence from this morning’s show, but that wasn’t unusual. “Daggy is a woman out of time,” wrote one of the bloggers. “It is right that she chooses when to appear, rather than comply with patriarchal notions of time. Breakfast is an institution mired in the patriarchal oppression of women. Who cooks breakfast?”
Perhaps nobody had even found her. He checked the chronometer on his glasses. 7:12 a.m. That boded poorly for Daggy. Should he place an anonymous call to the authorities? Send through an unsigned text to alert someone to look in on her?
No. He’d have to trust that Daggy had been found. Everyone in Law and Order knew that the ‘Good Samaritan’ who calls in the crime is usually the perp. “But why would I do that?” he’d heard them say a dozen times. “Exactly,” the detective would say.
She’ll survive, thought Daniel. He’d pumped her full of Rejek. Effectively mainlined the stuff into her cholesterol-caked heart. It would kill off any infection. But – he tried to ignore the thought – it would do nothing for her if she dipped into shock.
She was breathing when he’d left. He was sure of it.
Had he checked properly? What had her pulse been?
The door to Margaret’s apartment opened before his hand found the handle.
The android stared at him with enormous, sapphire eyes. He thought he heard that whistling noise – a thin rush of air when she sniffed.
“Daniel brings skin for Margaret.” The android glanced at his duffel, then met his eyes again. It didn’t blink.
Daniel shoved past Margaret into the apartment, his shoulder jolting against the android’s. He’d assumed that the machine’s frame would be soft. Yielding. Like the chest of a flesh-and-blood human. Instead, his shoulder sung out from the impact. Margaret’s body was tough as titanium, or whatever Godsdammit material it was made of.
Odin leapt onto the table to greet him, as Daniel placed the bag on the Formica top. He heard Margaret shut the door. The android’s strides scratched the tiles.
He unzipped the bag. Withdrew a bundle surrounded by plastic sheeting.
Margaret’s fingers, Lincoln’s fingers, drummed faster and faster on the tabletop. “Onesie,” said Margaret. “Onesie, onesie, onesie.”
Despite himself, Daniel’s heart synced with the rhythm of the fingers as he unraveled the plastic.
“Margaret has what Margaret wants,” the android said.
Daniel extracted the jar from the bag. Held up the tongue and cornea to Margaret’s searching eyes. “We need to get to Hal soon,” he said, “or you’ll have neither a onesie nor a cornea. In this heat, they’ll rot to nothing in a few hours, even with the Rejek.”
Daniel jerked.
Margaret had taken his hand. Its fingers interlaced with his. He almost dropped the jar.
“Then Margaret and Daniel should go to Halliberry, together.”
He was too afraid to untangle his hand from Margaret’s, as they stepped into a taxi.
Half an hour later, Hal held his jarred tongue in hand.
“Tongues are complex. And this one isn’t cut as cleanly as I’d like.”
Hal lifted the muscle to the light. Examined the edge of its base, where Daniel had sliced it from Daggy’s throat.
Daniel and Margaret sat on the couch, watched unwaveringly by the dog.
“Hmmm. Not a very pretty organ, now is it?” continued Hal. “Slight nerve damage here. Microbial infection there. Hmmm. This isn’t going to be easy.”
“How much?” asked Daniel.
“I can do Margaret’s skin and cornea pretty cheap. Two hundred credits each. But the tongue for you … that’s going to cost.” Hal’s fan on the top of her aluminum skull whirred to life.
Margaret nodded.
Daniel gulped down a ball of bile. “How much?”
“Well, you know, there’s a scarcity of good back-room surgeons these days – Bubble PD is cracking down on us. And you’re not exactly low risk, young man. Running around chopping people up. If I get a visit from Bubble PD looking for you … well, that won’t do. As you can see, I have premises to maintain.”
Daniel surveyed the room. It hadn’t been dusted in at least a year. Boxes had been half-opened and left in various configurations on the floor.
The dog lifted its leg. Let loose a steady stream of yellow liquid.
“I could do it for seven hundred credits,” said Hal.
That was just about everything left in the card Margaret had given him.
“Alright,” he said, standing.
The dog stared at him, but continued to piss. Urine flowed along the tiles, between boxes of syringes, around islands of polystyrene, and formed a lake near the door leading to the operating room.
Hal’s stomach plate slid aside, revealing the inevitable paypoint. She tapped on the unit. Handed it to Daniel. “That’ll be eight hundred
and seventy-two credits.”
“I thought we agreed on seven.”
“You do want anesthetic, don’t you? Pretty little thing like you wouldn’t much enjoy the tongue implant without the anesthetic.”
Daniel felt the blood rush from his cheeks. “But I only have seven hundred.”
Hal’s fan stilled. She threw a glance at Margaret. “Since you’re a repeat customer, and because I know Margaret so well, I’ll throw in the anesthesia on the house.”
The dog sniffed the puddle. Waddled off to its food bowl.
“Thank you,” said Daniel, and swiped his card.
“So,” said Hal, “now we have that out the way, who’s going first?”
“Daniel should have Daniel’s tongue implanted first. Daniel will sleep for a while. This will give Margaret time to receive the onesie, and the cornea.”
“Onesie, huh,” said Hal. “Cute. Alright. This way, deary.”
The primary-colored operating room never failed to make Daniel queasy.
“Shirt off. Yes, you can put it over there. Now, breathe deeply. We don’t want you waking up halfway through. What a mess that would make!” Hal made a series of clacking noises he hoped was a proxy for laughter.
“Look at this,” said Margaret. The android flipped a switch on its arm, and a holovideo floated in the air above the steel operating table.
Daniel struggled to make out the image from his low angle. He blinked through the oncoming anesthetic haze. News channel. A face. Young. Male. Full cheeks. It looked familiar … it looked like –
“Oh my,” said Hal.
“Wha ith it?” mouthed Daniel.
“This changes the situation,” said Margaret.
Daniel squinted. Tried to lift his head off the table, but it weighed more than he did.
“Sure does,” said Hal. “Might be best if he doesn’t wake up.”
“Margaret needs more from Daniel before Hal terminates him.”
As the anesthesia took hold, as the last coils of unconsciousness unraveled his brain, Daniel recognized the boy on the holovideo newsfeed.
The boy was him.
*
Daniel flexed his fingers. Allowed his nails to find microscopic scratches in the warm steel table. His arms awoke. His elbows. His shoulders. His throat.
“How long will it last?” asked Margaret’s voice.
“I’ve sealed the jar. Pumped it full of high-concentration Rejek. If you don’t open it, it’ll stay fresh … well, forever.”
Daniel swallowed. His tongue bulged painfully against the palate of his mouth. But, but he felt it. The ridges of his teeth. He stuck out his tongue. Bit down.
Sweet agony exploded in his mouth. His tongue. He could feel his tongue. Blood never tasted so good. Iron. Awful. But a taste. Oh, thank Gods. He could taste.
He opened his eyes. Was about to cry out to them. To lift his head off the metal, and shout it. “It works,” he’d say. “My tongue!”
But something stopped him. Something in the corner of his vision. Something distorted. An unthinkable thing. Something one sees with the lights off at 3 a.m., waiting behind a couch. Behind a curtain. Under the bed.
Daniel blinked. Shook his head. And gaped at the emerald glass jar held gingerly in Margaret’s metallic hand.
A flat sheet of flesh. It wrapped around the inside of the glass, and where it touched, the skin was pink.
Daniel lifted himself upright with trembling elbows. Forced the stars from his vision. Stood on quaking knees.
Margaret spun around to look at him. The fan on Hal’s head was rotating so fast, he could feel the breeze on his eyeballs.
“What …” Daniel swallowed a globule of blood. “… what is that?”
“The police know,” said Margaret. At least, he thought it was Margaret. The android looked at him from behind a sheet of stretched skin. It wrapped over the machine’s titanium skull. Extended over subtle cheek bones. Folded over lipless teeth. Slits had been cut where Margaret’s nostrils had been, and larger holes for eyes.
“We had to remove it,” said Hal.
“Remove what?”
Daniel took a step forward. He could see the contents of the jar more clearly now. The eyebrows. The coarse black hairs along the chin.
Margaret stroked the glass. “Hal removed Daniel’s face.”
Daniel stumbled. Supported himself against the steel table. He peered down into the warped reflection in the metal. A pair of eyes stared back at him. His eyes. Green and round. Below them, his lips. Pale as Daggy’s thighs. But other than his eyes, other than his lips, nothing else was the same.
Ribbons of tissue yawned and contracted where his cheeks should have been. Arteries and veins pulsed to an escalating beat. Muscles and tendons, cartilage and bone – they all worked together under a thin film of translucent polyurethane.
His face was gone.
He touched his cheek, but felt only gentle pressure. He stroked the cartilage of his nose. The thin bands of muscle over his brow. The V of his skull bone rising above the muscles layering his forehead.
Over years of watching Law and Order, Daniel had seen just about every possible response to a crime scene. The actors playing victims tended to resort to a primal scream – a high-pitched, piercing guttural note that the patrolman would later say was heard by either everyone around, or nobody, depending on the race of the neighbors.
Something in Daniel wanted to suck in a barrel of air, open his mouth, and let out an immense wail. His body wanted to reject the reflection that greeted him from the steel table. But when he let out the air inside him, what issued forth was not a scream. Not a hint of panic lined his voice. It was low and calm, like a still winter morning. Clear.
And angry.
“This will not do,” he said.
“Daniel cannot use his face any longer,” said Margaret.
“The networks have plastered your face across the newscasts,” said Hal. “Bubble PD issued a press release to play on the advertising networks. Your face is everywhere.”
Daniel stroked the bone of his nose. “Then I need a new face.”
Hal tossed a bundle of bloody gauze from one hand to another. “I gave you what I had – the see-through wrap I use on the androids. It’s expensive, mind you.” The recess in her stomach appeared, revealing the paypoint.
“I never asked you to do this,” he said.
Margaret spoke up. “It was a choice between terminating Daniel on the operating table, or removing Daniel’s face. The risk to Margaret and Hal was too great to do nothing.”
With quivering fury, Daniel’s voice rose. “I need a new face.”
“I only have one left, and it’s being transplanted tomorrow onto one of my clients,” said Hal.
Daniel crossed his arms. “Let me see it.”
“It’s not yours. I told you, another client booked –”
“Show it to me. Now.”
The fan above Hal’s head stopped turning. Margaret’s eyes glimmered behind her new-found skin. Daggy’s skin.
“Alright,” said Hal, and shuffled off to a cupboard on the red wall, almost tripping over the dog on her way. She returned with another glass jar. Handed it to the boy.
The flesh was suspended in Rejek. Like his own face, holes had been cut out where the eyes and mouth would be. But the skin on this face was gristly. Pockmarked in places. Its cheeks and chin were covered in a coarse stubble. The flesh on its nose was specked with burst blood vessels.
“Margaret thinks it will fit Daniel nicely.”
“How much?” he asked.
“You can’t afford it,” said Hal, taking back the jar.
“I need it.”
Something in the back of Hal’s head hummed, and a thin smile played across the android’s lips. “Two arms and pair of kidneys.”
Daniel crossed his arms. “Sorry, mine are occupied.”
“Not yours,” said Hal. “But I have a feeling you could find me the parts I need.”
D
aniel only noticed now that Margaret was naked. Or rather, the android had always been naked, but now she had skin. Interesting that – how having more could make one seem to have less.
A diaphanous layer of purple-veined flesh had been stretched taut across Margaret’s flanks, down her arms and legs. It swaddled her breasts, reached up across her square shoulders, and covered her face.
Her.
Margaret had crossed that line drawn in invisible ink, and become a person. He could no longer think of her as an ‘it’. As a machine.
He averted his gaze. “I’ll need money,” he said. “I’ve spent everything I have on the tongue. I need credits for the taxi. Tools. Research. To get around. To hunt for your body parts.”
Margaret smiled a lipless smile, like a happy turtle. She fished out a blank credit card from a handbag on her waist. She was wearing a handbag now. A handbag.
“Daniel may use this. It’s anonymous. A gift card. But …” She held it back from Daniel as he reached to take it. “Margaret wants lips.”
Daniel sighed. “Lips for Margaret. Arms, and a set of kidneys for Hal. Got it.”
Hal and Margaret nodded as one. Their faces bunched into the same ghastly smile.
“I’ll need that face,” said Daniel.
“Sure. Come take a lie down on the table, deary,” said Hal. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
“Anesthesia?” he asked.
“Used up the last of it on your tongue. Never you mind. Halliberry is a gentle android.”
Don’t Kvetch the Small Stuff
“Mine Strauss used to say, ‘Don’t kvetch the small stuff.’ I say, don’t kvetch about Daggy Munch. I am a strong voman. A voman vith –”
“Ma’am, you were attacked. Savagely. Your tongue. The skin on your legs. The doctors say the nerve damage to your mouth could be permanent. Help me catch your attacker.”
Daggy leaned back in her hospital bed. Interlaced her fingers. “Mister policeman. I tell you already, it vas an alp who attacked me. I cannot tell you more zan zat.”
Kage swallowed his rising impatience. “Ma’am, we believe –”
“Mine Strauss vas za only man who vould call me ‘ma’am’. Did I tell you vat he vould do after he finished his berry milk on Sundays? He vould –”
Defragmenting Daniel: The Complete Trilogy Box Set Page 21
